Drawing Rooms, Second Floor, and Attics: A Farce, in One Act

by John Maddison Morton

CAPT. H. Pshaw!—hush! (TRIPTOLEMUS attempts to escape)

COCKLE. (in a maudlin pathetic tone to CAROLINE) He’s very poorly indeed, miss. (TRIPTOLEMUS seems struck by the voice)

CARO. (with indifference) Who, sir?

COCKLE. My nephew, Triptolemus.

TRIPTOLE. (aside) Uncle Cockletop! if he recognizes me, up goes the donkey—I mean the monkey! (pulling his wig more over his eyes)

COCKLE. (to HARDAPORT) Very hard, ain’t it, sir, after coming up all the way from Cambridge on the wings of love.

TRIPTOLE. (aside, in an agony) There are circumstances under which a nephew ought to be allowed to strangle his uncle.

COCKLE. I repeat, very hard; ain’t it, sir?

CAPT. H. (sharply) Very indeed!

COCKLE. Bless you! (making an ineffectual attempt to grasp the CAPTAIN’S hand) Bless you again!